As Ashes Fall
by PapaRayRay
Summary: Emotional scenes from Final Fantasy IV that should have been, but weren't. Rated T for graphic violence.


This is my gift fic for TheMoonclaw, a Final Fantasy IV writer with many good emotional pieces.

It's been awhile since I've written anything, so I could use the practice. This is about scenes in the Final Fantasy 4 plot that I either felt should have been there or should have been given more substance. So this is pretty much just me testing out how well I can make people get the feels with words. Being a military grunt, I can't promise any coherent update schedule, but I plan on several more chapters, at least.

Reviews, **especially** critical ones, are welcomed and encouraged!

* * *

Rydia

Cecil Harvey, former Lord Captain of the Red Wings and Dark Knight of Baron, stared at the men before him, his dark sword clasped tightly in hand. The inn was dark, lit only by a torch on the far wall near the reception desk and the moonlight that managed to filter through the windows, barely illuminating the dust in the air. His armor was hot, stuffy and stank of dried sweat and blood, but he had long grown used to the smell. Muscles were stiff and sore from overuse. Pain stabbed in his side, his body protesting wounds that hadn't been given time to heal. His hands were raw from constant battle. Sleep tugged at his eyelids.

But for all this, Cecil refused for his body's weakness to allow him to fail. The Dark Knight demanded no less.

Before him stood the enemy, soldiers from a land of strangers wearing familiar faces, men from a kingdom of false smiles and dark secrets, friends from a home he could never go back to. All of it was irrelevant; what mattered was that these faceless bringers of death were the reason that the tiny, green-haired child behind him was hiding behind her bed sheets, desperately trying - and failing - to hold back her tears. They were the reason that a helpless, innocent girl had to fear for her life, and that could not be allowed to continue. She had suffered enough.

Cecil held his sword vertically at his side with both hands, the tip angled at the foremost soldier. His eyes shifted from target to potential target, mind racing to come up with a strategy. He didn't want to kill these men. In truth they were just like him, hapless pawns being made to perform evil deeds unaware. If he was lucky, perhaps he could kill one soldier to make enough room to reach the one wearing the yellow and blue uniform of a general, standing in the rear. Without their commanding officer, he could force the surviving two to surrender… but that would mean there would be nothing between them and the girl. This was an unacceptable risk. She would live to see the sun mark a new day, he had sworn it of himself.

The man wearing a general's armor raised his sword and leveled it at the Dark Knight. "Attack!" he screamed. And then there was no more time to think.

Cecil invoked the power offered to him by the dark sword. The weapon became wreathed in black energy, focused through the blade by his will. It hummed within him, struggling to be released, impatient, eager to inflict harm upon another. It demanded that blood be spilled. The soldiers were moving, rushing in to end the fight before it even began, but they were not fast enough. The dark sword cut through the air in a horizontal arc as black power sprang forth from its edge, cutting through two of the men like a knife cuts through half melted butter, paying no respect to the full plated armor that they wore. Their bodies fell over in two pieces, having been severed just above the waist. There was comparatively little blood from their sudden and gruesome deaths as the Dark Wave had partially cauterized the tissue even as it ripped them apart as well as any broadsword. There was an odd grinding sound, and dust and small chunks of stone exploded from the wall behind them as the attack continued along its trajectory to punch a hole in the building. Cecil would have winced were he not engaged in combat. He hated collateral damage.

The soldier closest to Cecil had survived, having ducked under the dark sword's stroke reflexively due to his proximity to the weapon as it swung, the blade almost reaching over his head. He brought his sword up, unaware that his comrades had just been butchered, and gleaming steel moved to stab under darkened armor. But the Dark Knight was ready, and metal clashed with metal as a sharp clang resounded in the small inn. Cecil grit his teeth as his left arm absorbed the force of the blow, even as his buckler deflected the enemy's sword. Dark power was called forth once again, and the ex-Lord Captain could feel his vitality wane even as his muscles were infused with unholy might. It had been too long since he had last rested. If he continued to use his power it would quickly become dangerous. This fight had to end, now.

Darkened metal came down upon the opposing soldier's head, intending to cleave the life straight out of his body in a display of stunning violence. He raised his shield to ward off the blow, but against Souleater's inhuman power even a quarter-inch of steel would prove not enough. The dark sword slashed through the shield and continued to cave in the man's anonymous helmet and dig halfway through his skull before the stroke finally lost momentum. A choked, disturbing sound came from his throat, the body twitching even after the soul had left, as though it had not yet realized it was dead. A torrent of blood flowed as the Dark Knight forcibly tugged his sword out of the corpse, quickly pooling around the body and began to seep into the cracks in the stone floor.

Cecil raised his blade again, warm red liquid dripping from its edge, only to catch a brief glimpse of the general's cape as he fled out the door, having realized immediately that his battle was doomed to fail. The once Lord Captain blinked, then sighed as he lowered his weapon, allowing his body and mind to come down from the battle high. Shoulders sagging in wariness, he turned around to see the young waif he had just saved staring at the scene before her with wide, haunted eyes, and Cecil's heart throbbed for her lost innocence. She was far too young.

The girl, a summoner from the now destroyed village of Mist closed her eyes, too terrified to even scoot back as the figure clad in black stepped closer. She sat on the bed, blankets fisted tightly around her as sobs wretched their way from her throat. Tears ran down her round cheeks. She didn't fully understand what had just happened, but she was certain that the faceless man before her was going to do the same thing to her as he had just done to three others moments ago. But all she heard were a few clanging noises, and a few seconds later a low, sad voice.

"I'm sorry." The green haired girl slowly opened her eyes in surprise and confusion, vivid blue orbs taking in a sight that she would never have expected to witness. His bloody sword braced against the ground, the Dark Knight had taken a knee, bowing low before her.

She didn't understand. He had just beaten three men at once in seconds. He had set her entire village on fire. He was the reason her mother was dead. As far as the little seven year old knew, the knight before her was a bad, scary man who was utterly unstoppable, and she was helpless before him. So why was he kneeling? It was too much. The trauma from the past day started to catch up with her. Tears began to run afresh.

"W-whuh…" she tried to speak through her sobs. "Why? Why did they want to take me? Why did mother…" she couldn't say any more, the memories of smoke and death the words brought back were overwhelming. Her cries began in earnest. For several minutes the poor girl simply sat there, unloading her confusion, terror, sadness and rage into the bed sheets while the figure wearing darkened armor continued to kneel passively before her. After a time, she managed to give voice to her thoughts.

"What did I do wrong?" The Dark Knight's head lifted to face her, its cold, inhuman metal visage seeming to the girl like the face of nightmares.

"You did nothing wrong. The one to blame for what has befallen you is I." He looked down at the floor again. "For what I have done to your home and your mother, I can never be forgiven. But if you allow it, perhaps I can take responsibility for the pain I've caused." He could hear noise behind him, the sound of sandals scuffing on stone and hushed voices of the shocked owners having come to see what all the ruckus was about. They were paid no mind; He would deal with the aftermath shortly. Sliding his bloody sword into its place on his back with practiced ease, Cecil then reached up and slowly pulled off his helmet.

White hair fell down to his shoulders, clumped and matted from sweat and long hours inside the dark helm. Dark bags hung under his weary blue eyes. The skin on his cheeks hung slightly. It was a stark contrast to the faceless mask he had worn. The young summoner understood that helmet or no, this was still the same man, but now instead of intimidating, he merely looked sad. He wasn't as scary like this.

"Do you want me to watch over you, until we can find somewhere safe for you to stay?"

Although she still didn't know what to make of the Dark Knight who was pledging himself to her, she believed his words. Nodding her head in affirmative, her voice squeaked out a tiny "yes." At this, Cecil stood upright, still clutching his dark helm at his side.

"Then, would you be kind enough to tell me your name, young one?"

"My…" her voice failed her for a moment, then she shook her head and tried again, looking in the eyes of the man who was both her ruin and her savior. "My name is Rydia."


End file.
